One evening last week, I decide I need to hose down the front driveway as we had had a load of white rocks delivered a few days before and they had left a layer of white dust on the charcoal pavers. So I set 19 month old Rascal up in her sandpit nearby and began the rhythmic hosing, quite therapeutic really. I knew, though, that it was only a matter of time until Rascal had to investigate.

And this happened about 5 mins in. Out of the sandpit she pops and wanders over to the hose. She starts casually putting her hand in the water and I humour her as it is a hot day and I don’t care if she gets wet. I think vaguely that I should have changed her out of her white shirt but can’t be bothered stopping the procedure now to do it. I continue hosing, gradually moving further and further down the driveway. She has started stomping in the puddle created by the hose now and is enjoying herself immensely with little squeals of delight echoing around our quiet street. I accidentally spray her a few times and she is equally delighted by this. The water is getting muddier and dirtier as I get closer to the end of the driveway and once I reach the footpath, Rascal decides that she has had enough of this petty hand touching and stomping and goes right in.

She launches forwards on the footpath straight onto her tummy (and her white shirt) into the muddy water. She instantly starts ‘swimming’ like she does in the bath and lays her face in it, drinking the gritty water happily. I sigh helplessly as it’s too late to do anything for the shirt and she is having so much fun. I decide to just finish the hosing and then we can all go inside. So I finish the hosing and turn it off. Rascal is still ‘swimming’ and leaps up when the hose goes off. She looks absolutely hilarious covered in mud, so I decide I want a picture. I dash ahead of her into the house to get the camera and close the door between the garage and the house to prevent her muddy body from entering.

This is where the disaster bit starts.

For some reason, though I have never done this before, Rascal thinks that, because I closed the door on her, I am banishing her permanently from the house. She starts to wail. I grab the camera and open the door, saying “it’s fine darling, mummy just wants a picture.” This declaration only results in louder wailing and she is now trying to force herself into the house, her tears mixing with the mud on her face. I soon realise that my dreams of getting a picture are over and put the camera down.  I’m about to let her in when I realise I don’t have a towel. She is reaching desperation point at this stage and I’m not sure if she is starting to feel a bit cold or what but she REALLY wants to get inside! I let her in and take off her shoes and say, “please wait, mummy needs a towel” very firmly. Luckily the linen press is not far away and I get one within seconds but she has already made it to the hallway, crying loudly by the time I get to her with the towel. As soon as I pick her up in the towel she starts to calm down. She must have been cold. I sigh with relief. The worst is over.

Or is it. 

We arrive at the bathroom and I decide that I will have to chuck her in the shower because she is completely covered in mud and we have to go out after this to pick up Daddy from the airport. This is another very important part of the story because if I had had another set of hands available, none of the disaster bit would have happened. Anyway back to the disaster. I take off her wet clothes and start the shower. I’m just about to put her in and take off her nappy to realise she has a poo in it. Ughhhh! I don’t have any wipes. This isn’t good. I make a snap decision to chuck her in the shower and wash the excess poo off her bottom in there. I must admit I didn’t bother to check how much poo was on her bottom. But anyway. I put her in. 

The bottom of the shower instantly fills with poo, or so it seems. Ahhhhhh! Yuck! I say, “stay standing, I’m going to get wipes.” This would have been a confusing instruction for her as we spend most of our shower time trying to get her to sit down but anyway, I hoped it would be a simple thing. I dash into her bedroom, which is less than 4 metres away and grab the wipes. As my hand latches onto the packet I hear a ‘slip... crash.... waaaaaaaaa!’ from the bathroom. She’s fallen over. I dash back as fast as I left (bearing in mind I’m 24 weeks pregnant and starting to resemble a whale). Sure enough she has slipped over. And now she is laying on her back.... in her own poo pool. I let out another scream of horror, then grab her off the bottom of the shower and start madly wiping what is left off her bottom (which isn’t much by now) and her back. I then shoo all the remaining poo down the drain. 

Sighing loudly, I grab a few bath toys and give them to her. I then stand there trying to catch my breath. She sighs also (loves to copy when I sigh) and sits down on the bottom of the shower. She then grabs the toys, closes the door to the shower and waves goodbye to me. It’s like as if she’s saying ‘ok you’ve done enough. Now just leave me to my fun.’ 

All of that happened in the space of 5 mins. And I am left wondering how a fun jaunt in the hose water outside became a desperate, slippery, poo-covered disaster!

 Libby :)

In the last month, Rascal (now 17.5 months) has been going through several fazes with different favourite words. The one I want to tell you about is "stuck." It all started on a Sunday when she was riding her trike at the social cricket game Daddy was playing in. There was a lovely concrete area and then a grassy area.  She had just worked out the word "stuck" a few days before but it hadn't yet become an obsession. She would ride off the concrete onto the grass and call out "stuck!" to me sitting in my camping chair. I would call back "just push a bit harder" and she would, with all her might and then become "stuck!" again. I got up numerous times that afternoon to get her un"stuck" and didn't think much of it. 

Little did I know that "stuck" would haunt me for a week or more! We started the week with everything being "stuck." She couldn't open a book so it was "stuck." She couldn't move her foot because there was a teddy in the way (a teddy that weighed less than 200 grams...) so she was "stuck." She would come to a cord that crosses our hallway (temporarily) and couldn't walk over it (although she'd been walking over it for weeks) and so she was "stuck." Everything, and I mean everything, made her "stuck!" 

Thankfully in the days and weeks that have followed that faze, there have been others. We are currently in an "up" faze, which includes getting up (and down - though today I did hear her say "dow" when she wanted to get down so maybe we are about to enter a "down" faze...), the garage door going "up, up, up" and many other "up"s!  There has been the "trees" faze which involved yelling "trees" every time she saw the little collection of trees in pots on our alfresco waiting to be planted. It was accompanied by intense swaying which indicated that she wanted me to sing "The Trees are Gently Swaying" on repeat for at least an hour. There was, and still partially is, a "gone" faze going on where if she doesn't want something, especially in the food department, it is miraculously "gone" although it sits in front of us. There is also currently a "star" faze because all she can see is the star on the Christmas Tree not the actual tree itself. That always must be accompanied by "Twinkle, Twinkle" also on repeat. 

It is wonderful watching Rascal's language develop. She is going to be a chatterbox just like her mummy, I can tell. Looking forward to what other fazes we may have coming up. Hopefully none of them involve being stuck!

Libby :)

The definition of ‘whinge,’ according to the Google dictionary, is: to complain persistently and in a peevish or irritating way.  I have experienced this first hand in the last few weeks.  Here is how it happened....

It all began when Rascal was sick. And don’t get me wrong, I have no issue with a sick baby whinging. It is a natural thing and I do it myself when I am sick. The poor little thing had a temperature, stomach bug which included vomiting, cough and stuffy nose. And all this whilst travelling to W.A. from the eastern side of the country. So, she really had reason to be unhappy. She would whinge quite persistently throughout the course of the day. When playing, when eating, when going to sleep, whenever I moved more than 1 mm away from her. It was quite draining, but once again I didn’t mind as she was sick.

Rascal was sick for about a week and all the members of her travelling party were infinitely happy when she started to improve.  We couldn’t wait to see the end of this incredibly annoying whinge! So we waited for signs of its disappearance. We waited... and waited... and waited. And it didn’t go. In fact it increased in volume the more well she felt. The habit had been locked in. She had developed a West Australian Whinge.

Even if she was happy about something, she would whinge before smiling. She would whinge when put in her highchair even if she had been reaching up to it for the past few minutes because she was hungry. She would whinge if you picked her up, even if she had been reaching to be picked up. She would whinge when she got in the bath even though she loves the bath and always wants to go in there. It was really getting too much. I and my family, who were travelling with me, were all on tender hooks. We were so tired of this whinging sound and close to losing our minds!

One morning I woke up. Rascal had slept all night without a peep, as she usually does when not sick or teething. She was happy and cheerful. Apart from the whinge. Anyway, I had had enough. I knew she was practically fully better. I knew it had just become a habit. So I decided swift action was necessary. Each time she whinged, I would say firmly “No.” This usually resulted in Rascal bursting into tears (refer to "A Delicate Soul"). At first she cried a lot after I said ‘No.’ Well not really a lot, but a lot for her. About one minute. Then she would cry less until she didn’t cry when I said ‘No’ to the whinge. Eventually, over the course of the day, the whinge started becoming less and less. She wouldn’t leap to whinge at the first opportunity. Instead she might smile or laugh, as she had before, in response to something. It was refreshing! We were all excited to see the real Rascal back again! Especially my brother and sis-in-law who hadn’t seen much of Rascal so far and had a very non-typical introduction to her while she was sick and whinging. We were all happy to see the smiley, laughing girl back. 

We have lovingly named the whinge the West Australian Whinge as she developed it whilst on holiday there. Every time she whinges about anything since returning from our holiday, we comment and say “Not that West Australian Whinge back again!!!”  It will be forever in our memories!

Libby :)

It's never nice to have a sick child. I have been blessed in that it has hardly ever happened. Recently, though, I experienced a combination of sick child and really bad timing. It went something like this. 

Several days before our scheduled trip to visit my new nephew (as mentioned in "The Possessive Vibe" blog earlier), Rascal had a temperature. She was quite miserable and clingy with about 39.1 temp. She only wanted me, not Nanna or Papa who were there to come on the trip too. She had never been this ill, so it was sad in itself but in the back of my mind, I was hoping it was nothing serious that could impact our trip. I had been looking forward to this trip for months. Ever since my sister-in-law had told us she was pregnant, I knew I just had to trek over to the other side of Australia to see this little addition to our family. And when he was born, well it was a given! I had to go and see them! So I was horrified that this may turn out to be something that would stop us from travelling. One of my friend's little children had just come down with Chicken Pox so I knew it was a possibility Rascal could have it too. So we played the waiting game. 

The next day Rascal had little or no temperature. She was still not herself but was a bit better. We decided to draw a line in the sand and if we woke up on the day of travel and she had spots, we wouldn't go. If she didn't, we would. The day arrived. She woke up. I peeked under her singlet. No spots anywhere. Good. Ok. Trip's on. But she still wasn't 100%. So we left. Took the first flight (of three), a short 45 minute flight. She slept the whole way and was fine. We landed at our destination and about 20 minutes later, she vomited on Nanna. Luckily it was mostly all over herself. We cleaned that up and changed her clothes and went to wait for our second flight. She had a small amount of lunch. At this stage we couldn't tell if she was simply air-sick or if she was vomiting in relation to her temperature and an illness of some kind. 

The second flight was about 4 hours. She slept for over half of it. Then went to sit with Nanna while I got some space (she'd been sitting/sleeping on me for the whole day by this stage). About 5 minutes later she was sooky and wanted to come back to my knee. So I snuggled her in. This is where the day got more interesting. She sat up on my lap and looked at me. I knew something was wrong but nothing prepared me for what happened next. She started to be sick. Vomit was billowing up out of her. She cried after the first bout and then vomited again. Everything she had eaten in the last 24 hours came up in one incredible food fountain. 
It was everywhere. It was all over her. It was all over me. It was all over Nanna. It was all over the plane seat and down in between the seats. For one stunned second after it had finished, my mum and I looked at each other. Thoughts surged through my head. "I will never recover from this! It is not possible to clean this up!" Then we switched into gear and started wiping and stripping clothes off. We called for assistance from the air hostesses and they brought us wet towels and wipes and dry paper towels. We wiped and wiped and washed until all was as good as it could get. But it didn't take away the cloud of funk hanging around us. It stunk! Poor little Rascal was so upset. She almost looked apologetic. It was as if she understood that it was a real hassle for everyone else. I had to remove the outer layer of my clothing. (For the sake of the other passengers in the plane, I didn't remove any more, though they too were fountain-affected). We put a comfortable onesie on Rascal and she laid down and slept again. 

We counted the seconds until we could get off the stinky plane. Finally it was over and we were able to get to our hotel and clean everyone up. Rascal travelled well the next day on the final flight. She was off her food for several days but is almost back to normal now. I am relieved that I somehow survived a food fountain at 32,000 feet! It's not an experience I hope to ever repeat though, so I'm hoping for a settled stomach on the trip home! 

Meanwhile I am enjoying my gorgeous nephew and might just have to pay some excess luggage to sneak him home with me!

Libby :)

We were about 15 minutes into the swimming lesson when my nose detected that familiar waft of stench. I grimaced. Rascal had done a poo in her swimming nappy. This was the third time she had done it and I didn’t enjoy the experience. At the end of the lesson, I dashed out of the pool, instead of chatting pleasantly with the other mums and leisurely exiting the pool as I usually did. I made a bee line to the pram, wrapped her in a spare towel and put her in.

As I powerwalked (you can’t run at the pool…) toward the family change rooms, I pondered the options. In the previous two occasions that she had done this, I had used alternate methods to solve the problem. One was to lay her down on a change table and, using about four thousand wipes, slowly take off the nappy whilst wiping constantly. On the other occasion the method was to hold her over my arm and carefully peel off the nappy. Not much was still on her bottom so I simply rinsed it under the running shower. The second option had been much easier so I headed for the shower room when I got to the change room. I peeled off her yellow polka-dot swimming costume while I got the shower to a pleasant temperature. Her nappy wafted at me and I scrunched up my nose. Then I took a deep, slow breath and headed toward the water stream. 

I began to peel off the nappy, slowly and cautiously. I peered at her bottom, watching to see if anything was staying on it. Everything looked good so I proceeded with the plan. I eased the nappy smoothly down her legs, the contents staying safely within. Rascal sang to herself, as she hung there, draped on my arm. I held my breath and gave one final tug on the nappy. 

That’s when things stopped following the plan. Rascal, in her innocent way, gave a gleeful kick in the middle of her song. The nappy and its contents, which had, thus far, survived the removal process, were suddenly suspended in the air. It happened in slow motion. I managed to keep a hold of the nappy, but I was not so fortunate with the contents. Poo sprayed out of the nappy and down the wall of the change room, also flicking onto my leg.  It was the worst possible outcome!

I screamed silently in horror and stuck my leg under the shower stream. I picked up the nappy and put it in a plastic bag, then began rinsing the wall with the hand held shower head. I rinsed Rascal off, wrapped her up in the towel and began to rinse the floor and myself again. It was extremely disgusting. I dressed Rascal warmly, then dressed myself and left the pool, sincerely hoping that I never have to deal with a pooey swimming nappy ever again! 

Libby :)

Little Rascal has always been delicate when it comes to being told off. You don’t even have to say “no” some days and her lip quivers. Other days she will grin at you when you say no. But when you physically remove her from a situation she isn’t meant to be in, the waterworks really start. I can’t decide whether she is hurt that she has done something she wasn’t supposed to do, hurt that she cannot do the thing she wishes to do or embarrassed that she’s in trouble. Whatever the reason, the age of ONE hasn’t stopped this phenomenon.

Just today, we were at a 1st birthday party. There are many of these to attend at this time of year as all the mums from the mother’s group all have their babies turning one too. She was playing happily with a toy when another mum with a much younger baby, just sitting up, came and put her child right near Rascal. This wasn’t a problem at all and Rascal was excited to have another baby sitting right near her. She started off patting the baby on the head. I said, “That’s right – we are gentle with babies.” She grinned at me in a “I’m such a good girl” way. This continued for a few more seconds. I then noticed that the pats were becoming less pats and more slaps. So I crouched down next to her and repeated my first suggestion of being gentle with babies. She looked at me with innocence again and promptly reached out to gouge the baby’s eye out. 

I reacted with lightning speed and grabbed her arm, just before the gouge made contact, saying “No darling, we don’t do that to others.”  Her reaction to this was emotive. She began to wail – loudly. Of course all the other mums at the birthday party looked over to see what had happened and I reassured them everything was fine. I picked her up when she didn’t immediately get over the situation. She continued to wail. By this stage, the other baby, who’s eye I had valiantly saved from a sure injury, decided that something sad must be happening. She too, then began to wail at a high volume. 

Between the two of them, it was quite a sound. The other mum came and got her baby and I assured her that no injury had occurred, just sympathy or fright, I couldn’t tell which. They continued their duet of tears for about 5 minutes, which, when you are waiting for a child to stop crying, is quite a while! One would back off and then hear the other and the start again and vice versa. They both sounded so sad! When the last tear was shed, both bubs were able to play once again and we all moved on. 

But the fact still remains. Rascal cannot handle being told off! What will she be like in school? If someone tells her to stop talking, will she burst into tears? I must admit, if I think back, I felt like crying when I got in trouble at school, so she probably will too! Oh well, I have a delicate little soul. At least I don’t have a hard, heartless one. I’ll take my delicate soul any day!


Libby :)

We have just been through a big weekend! We had a little girl turn ONE year old. This was a big thing in our family, as she is the first grandchild on both sides. Both sides of the family were present and had a wonderful time together. My closest friend was able to come last minute with her whole family as well!

Rascal’s birthday was on Thursday last week. So she opened her presents from Mummy and Daddy in the morning, which she loved! I was so happy about that because you never know if something will be a hit or not!  I play the piano and want her to have the opportunity to learn, so I got her a gorgeous toddler piano. She kneels (it’s too scary to stand by yourself) up against it and tinkers away several times a day! Then she started opening presents from Grandma and Grandpa. They gave her a rocking horse, which has become the MOST favourite present. For some reason she wants to be on it ALL the time. As in ALL the time. I’m not talking about once a day. She would literally sit on it for every waking minute. Of course she cannot do that as someone has to hold her on and rock it for her, so she spends many a minute sitting beside the horse patting it and gesturing to be put up on it.  Talk about a HIT! The other Grandma arrived the day after her birthday and bought heaps more presents, which she dutifully opened and played with and also enjoys just as much! 

Amongst all the present opening and visitor arrivals, we made a cake. It was an epic cake and may have been beyond our abilities, but with the help of a friend who is a magician with cakes, we were able to have the fantastic cake we imagined! We also cooked for most of the week to provide for the party lunch. It was a wonderful time of working together for a common goal.

The day before her party, on Saturday, while all the family were there, we also had Rascal dedicated in church. She always behaves quite sensibly and is not a super loud child. As soon as she got up the front of all the people, she started chatting and squealing loudly! She was pulling my hair and dancing. It was quite hilarious! But luckily she didn’t mind being held by the pastor as he said a dedication prayer. She even rested her head on his shoulder! 

Saturday night involved finishing the epic cake. Others helped decorate the hall as we did it. We worked til midnight and had it finished. The decorations were mostly done too and the hall is starting to look awesome!

On Sunday, we arose early and started to make final arrangements. The decorations were mostly done, just a few final purchases and a few more things to stick up. At 12 the guests began to arrive and Rascal welcomed the first few with glee! She then started getting quite over it and looking at newcomers like – why are you here? It was funny as I don’t think she quite understood what they were all doing there! We had lunch, and soon realised that we had made far too much food! But better more than less, that’s for sure! We had the lunch, cake cutting and Happy Birthday singing (where Rascal reached over and touched the flame on the one candle! Luckily she didn’t receive any burns, though Mummy’s heart stopped temporarily!) and present opening. She sat and opened each present until about 4/5 of the way through when she turned around and crawled under the present table for some time out! We were going to have a picture with everyone in their party hats but didn’t get to do it in the end, which was a bit disappointing. But everything else was awesome and I am so glad we decided to do a big party for our little Rascal.

We spent today chilling. I lazily played with Rascal's new toys and read her new books. It was a lovely day to sit around and do not much, which, compared to the last few days, is the complete opposite! I am looking forward to some nice early nights as compared to the 3 or 4 midnight nights last week! It's all worth it, though, and we have come out of it satisfied and fully celebrated!

Libby :)

I must say I think I have a bit of a complex... well I probably have several, but I am referring to one type of complex in particular. I will call this complex the “Can’t-Stand-Anything-Missing-From-The-Set” Complex. I’m sure some of you would be able to emphathise. I’ve had this complex for years, but today, it seems like all the sets are out to get me...

I’m packing away the blocks. There are 48 blocks. They all fit perfectly in their box so I know if they are all there or not. I get to the top layer and all is going well. I glance around at the left over blocks. My head tells me something is not right and soon my fears are realised... 

There is a block missing. 

I breathe deeply and assess the playroom. It could be under that toy. I look and it’s not there. Remain calm. I keep looking under toys until I have to assume it is not in this room. I will have to keep looking for it throughout the day. And no matter what else enters my head during the afternoon, I will still remember that I haven’t yet found the block. 

There are also other similar issues occurring today. I have a set of 30 connector pen textas. Rascal likes to pull them apart and I was letting her do that earlier this morning. Just now, I put them all back together. There are only 29 and I have looked everywhere for the other but to no avail!

And so goes the story of my putting-away time. 16 parts to the toy train. Check. 6 books in the Nursery Rhyme set, 4 pairs of animals in the Noah’s ark set + Noah himself of course. Check. 4 cups, large and small plates, knives, forks, spoons, cups and mugs in the toy dish set. Oh no, there are still some missing! There is 1 fork, 2 large plates and a cup missing.  I will have to address this sometime soon...

The only solution to this problem is to buy nothing in sets. I need to just buy one of everything. But this will never happen, so I will have to resign myself to always being worried when there is one thing missing!


Libby :)

What are your qualifications? Do you have the prerequisites for the job? As mothers, there are many roles we now fulfill and this will be added to as our children increase in age and number! Let's explore some of the roles that are required for babies, toddlers and young children below: 

Food Fabricator: We are in charge of either producing or creating food. Whether it be making breastmilk, shaking up a bottle of formula, chopping up finger food, blitzing pumpkin into a perfect puree or using all your upper body strength to mash a potato, we are the ones who are responsible for it. And that never ends, no matter how far into their twenties they get (though hopefully they can mash their own food by then!)

Comfort Creator: We are also responsible for making sure our children are positioned in a level of comfort that would rival any royal ruler. They have to be just the right temperature, have the right amount of padding underneath them, have just the right amount of breeze blowing on them, just the right number of stuffed toys within reach. Their tummy has to be at just the right fullness level with their body at ideal hydration. Everything has to be just right and we are supposed to be experts in this area.

Excellent Entertainer: We are required to have a wide repertoire of extremely exciting acts. These acts need to utilise normal, everyday items and be available at the drop of a hat. The repertoire also needs to evolve and change to adjust to the child’s interests, age and boredom level. With this prerequisite, mums are also required to throw any hint of self-respect, dignity (although that’s long since gone) and stage fright out the window. You will be performing in public for the rest of your life, so get over it and embrace it!

Desperate Distracter: We need to have the ability to find a safe, exciting and new distraction that is more interesting than the unsafe, destructive and annoying thing that the child wishes to do. This is one of the most difficult prerequisites because it requires the mum to think on her feet 24/7, full night’s sleep or not! The added difficulty in this prerequisite is that when we have had limited sleep, the child seems to be even more likely to go for the activities that are dangerous or destructive! So these occasions are when we are required to be at our quickest and sharpest. A challenge indeed! 

Waste Wiper: One of the most repetitive prerequisites is the art of removing stinky, smeared poo from the bottoms of our children. This would be fine if all children laid perfectly still as we performed this service, but most toddlers do not appreciate the act of removing waste from their bottoms. Mums need to have advanced agility and dexterity to master this skill whilst also ensuring that the surrounding walls, carpet, tiles, parents and other parts of the child remain (relatively) poo free. 

Continuous Cleaner: Mums are required to provide clean places for children to make dirty again. If crumbs, mashed banana or partially digested bread land on the floor, it is the mother’s job to remove it at the end of the meal, so that during the next meal, there is space for the child to put more rejected food. If the toys are all spread around the playroom, it is the mother’s job to pack them up at the end of the day so that, within 2.4 minutes of the child starting to play the next morning, they can be all back where they started! This concept applies to basically all parts of cleaning. 


Clothing Connoisseur: In the job description of a mother, this one becomes one of the most life-controlling elements. We must be continually focused on each and every member of the family having respectable, appropriate and clean clothing, of the approximate right size, to wear. We must be an expert in the domestic art of placing clothes in the washing machine, carrying the basket to the preferred hanging location, hanging them out, waiting an appropriate time to allow sufficient drying, taking them off the preferred hanging line, carrying them back inside, folding them into piles and putting them away. Some lucky clothes may be ironed, but most can be folded in such a way that this is not required. For some of us, all of this must be done whilst one or more “helpers” are present, ensuring that the task takes up far more of your precious time than it ever should!

There are many more prerequisites that we are required to have when facing up to the job of being mother, but remember that in all these tasks, we are providing an upbringing for our children that will help shape the people they are one day. After all, we chose this for ourselves! Let’s laugh about it and embrace the job with the most prerequisites! 

Libby :)

This morning, Rascal was in an exploratory mood. This is not anything out of the ordinary lately, but it was particularly so this morning. She was going in and out of various rooms of the house and I was going along closing the doors I didn’t want her in. She came back to the main living area and sat down to play. This only lasted a few minutes and she was off again, this time heading for her bedroom. There wasn’t much in there that was unsafe, so I relaxed in my computer chair and kept researching for her upcoming birthday party. 

Occasionally, I would walk over to the edge of the living area and peek into her room to see what she was doing. The first time I looked she was playing with a doll from her basket of stuffed toys. The second time she was leafing through a book. The third time I checked in response to a strange noise I heard from the room. When I walked over to her bedroom door to work out what the noise was, she smiled cheekily at me, reached over and closed the door in my face. 

I was equally shocked and amused! Here is this, not-quite-one-year-old, already trying to keep me out of her room! If she’s at this level now, imagine what she’ll be like when she’s five... or eight... or fourteen! 

Libby :)